Killer Chameleon (16 page)

Duck shook his head. “You've left me.”

Evans and Thackery were probably as puzzled but were doing a good job of trying not to show it. They simply watched, two pairs of eyes darting back and forth between us.

“That's why she seemed surprised when I said I was pleased to meet her,” I went on, as much for myself as for him. “As far as she was concerned, we'd met before. Except,” I added, “that doesn't quite scan. Oh, my God.”

“Yes?” From the expression on Evans's face, something told me he used those piercing gray eyes as a means of intimidation. I had news for him; they weren't working on me.

“It wasn't Clarissa, it was Claudia,” I said, hoping they'd be able to follow me. “Before, I mean, whatever day the she-devil showed up here. I'm sure the twins must have had a good reason for pulling a switch, but that had to be what happened. Clarissa was reacting to her sister's description of me. If Clarissa had been there that day, she would have reminded me that I'd taken the box right off the bat. She mentioned the box to her sister on the phone while I was searching for it. Claudia must have told her I'd been there and had taken it. But in the kitchen a while later, Clarissa seemed distracted, worried. Then I mentioned that the box had been in the guest room the last time I was here two weeks ago. That's when she must have realized that her sister had screwed up and the woman who'd taken the box couldn't have been me. Understand?”

“All right.” Thackery snapped his notepad closed. “I give. What the hell is going on here?”

I dreaded having to explain. It was all so bizarre. Fortunately a stay of execution arrived in the person of the crime scene technicians and a medical type, all stepping over one another in an intricate ballet as each went about his assigned task.

Duck found an unmarked space for his car near the entrance and we sat on the hood watching, with no further discussion of the interloper. The least we could do for Claudia was to make her the focus of our attention, since we'd pretty much ignored her for the last quarter hour or so.

The medical examiner had just finished when the Explorer barreled into the garage. Seeing us parked off to the side, Tank pulled up beside us.

Tina was out before he'd come to a halt. “Is it her? Aunt Sister?” She seemed to have aged since I'd seen her an hour ago.

“We think so. Evans,” Duck called. The detective glanced over his shoulder, saw the new arrivals and, after a word to Thackery, made his way over to us, his brow wearing a puzzled frown.

He shook Tank's hand then turned to Tina. “You're Mrs. Younts? I remember you now, but I thought your name was Jones.”

“Maiden name,” Tina responded, her eyes glued on the trunk of the Chevy. “I want to see her. Now.”

“Of course. It's not bad, no blood or anything.”

“Not bad? She's dead. How could it be any worse?” She walked away. Evans, after an apologetic shrug, followed her. Tank was last in the procession, catching up with Tina in time to slide his arm around her shoulders as she halted at the trunk.

She nodded almost immediately. “It's her. Aunt Sister. Claudia Jean Hitchcock.” Jerking free of Tank's embrace, she spun around. “What the
hell
is she doing in the trunk of your car, Leigh?” she yelled. “You had to say the magic word, didn't you? This is your fault, dammit!”

She might as well have cold-cocked me. Magic word? What was she talking about?

“Be cool.” Duck pulled me closer and murmured in my ear. “She's upset. Let her get it out of her system.”

As hard as it was, I managed to nod agreement. I had thought that Eddie's suspicion that I might have been stepping out on Duck had hurt. In comparison to this, it was a pinprick. Tina blamed me. I had no idea why.

I slid off the hood and climbed into the passenger side, closing the door. I groped until I found the correct lever, reclined the seat back as far as it would go and shut my eyes. I wanted to cry so badly that it hurt almost worse than Tina's accusation. Instead, I got mad.

There was no proof yet but I was certain my doppelganger had to be smack in the middle of this. It was one thing to be the target of her acrimony and dirty tricks, and bad enough that in getting at me she'd also drawn blood from Duck; he'd wanted to see Hawaii for as long as I could remember. We'd get there one day. But there'd be no “one day” for Claudia, or for Claudia and Clarissa as twins. The she-devil had severed that unique connection, perhaps mine with Tank and Tina as well. That remained to be seen.

But in her pursuit for revenge for whatever she felt I'd done to her, Ms. Witch had grievously wounded others, people I cared about. An innocent woman was dead. And until the time of death could be established and my alibi confirmed, I was number one in the investigation's bull's-eye. Leigh Ann Warren. Murder suspect.

11

I REALLY THOUGHT THINGS WERE ABOUT AS
bad as they could get. Then the elevator door opened and who peeks out? Mrs. Luby and Clarissa.

I practically fell out of the car, hurrying to waylay them. Fortunately, Duck, who'd returned to the Chevy to talk to Evans and Thackery, spotted the two in time and hurried toward them, getting there a few steps ahead of me. I'd lost track of Tank and Tina; they were nowhere in sight.

Apparently Duck's neighbor had been in bed, or on the way. Filmy orange pajama bottoms peeked from beneath a calf-length robe. Her high-heeled mules matched the pajamas; her night cap, the robe. Clarissa, however, in no way resembled the person I'd met earlier in the week. The trim navy pantsuit and tailored yellow blouse under the black chesterfield coat made her the prototype of the professional woman fresh from a day at the office. And no dangling chandeliers from her earlobes this time; she wore small, gold clip-ons shaped like hearts.

“See? I told you they were probably still down here,” Mrs. Luby said, escorting Clarissa off the elevator.

“Clarissa.” Duck took her arm, turning her so that her view of the activity in the corner was blocked. “You were looking for me?”

“Well, yes. I know it's late but I simply couldn't put it off any longer. Hello, Ms. Warren. I . . . I'm glad you're here too.” She couldn't seem to meet our gazes, hers skittering about like a hummingbird, never lighting on any one place. Her cherub's face wore more seams tonight. “I owe you both an apology. I—we, that is, deceived you.”

“You and your twin.” Duck's voice was gentle, nonjudgmental.

“Yes. We meant no harm. I mean, it wasn't the kind of prank we used to—” She stopped, taking him in for the first time. “How did you know we were twins? Oh. Tina told you? It's just as well.”

Mrs. Luby, who'd been waiting for the elevator to return, abandoned it and edged closer, eyes bright with curiosity.

“I woke up sick that day, you see, a migraine, and I didn't want to disappoint you. So Sister said she'd come in my place, do your apartment for me. Only . . . only—” She couldn't seem to finish.

“Only a woman showed up who said she was me,” I volunteered, “and took a box when she left, the one I was looking for the day before yesterday, and a set of keys from the pegboard in the kitchen.”

“Sister told you!” In an instant she was transformed, the fretful ridges disappearing from her forehead, her animated demeanor returning. “Oh, I'm so relieved. And so sorry. I'd have said something, but I couldn't make heads or tails of what had happened while I had her on the phone. Sister gets muddled a lot these days, mixes things up. But then you said you hadn't been here in two weeks and I knew I had to get home and talk to her, find out exactly what she'd done. We decided we had to 'fess up, then let you take us in.”

“Take you in?” Duck asked.

We'd gained quite an audience. Evans and Thackery had eased up behind us, I wasn't sure when, and Mrs. Luby had edged closer still.

“The woman was a thief.” Clarissa quivered with indignation. “She stole Ms. Warren's property, and we were accomplices. But I wanted to square things between us first. I hadn't finished your apartment, and since today's the day I normally do it, I came as usual. Sister was supposed to pick me up because I had a class to teach at the Literacy Center this evening and I'd have to rush home to change. Then afterward we were going to call you, ask if we could drop by so we could confess that we'd allowed an impostor into your apartment. Only Sister forgot she was to come and get me, and I had to take a cab home. I've been trying to track her down ever since.”

Duck drew in a deep breath and looked back at Thackery and Evans who, after a second, nodded, leaving the hated task to him.

He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Clarissa, but I have bad news—about your sister.”

Her eyes widened, alarm scrubbing all color from her face. “What's she done now?”

“It looks like she did come to pick you up today. It also appears that she ran into the woman who had fooled her before. We aren't sure what happened, but . . . I'm sorry, Clarissa. There's no easy way to say it. Your sister is dead.”

There was a moment of pained silence as we waited for her reaction. It was not what we expected. She burst into laughter, the sound echoing hollowly against the concrete walls.

“Oh, Dillon, don't be ridiculous. Just because I can't find her doesn't mean anything. Claudia's never where she's supposed to be and when she is, more often than not, she's late. She'll turn up.”

“She already has,” Duck said. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. She's probably been here since sometime this afternoon.”

“Dillon.” Clarissa pulled herself to her full height, a no-nonsense-brooked expression across her face. “Enough is enough. Claudia is not dead. She couldn't be. We're twins. I'd know.”

Duck's eyes met mine. He shrugged, defeated. “Find Tina,” he said. “Come with me, honey.” Arm still around her shoulder, he escorted her through the group.

“Where are we going?” The first traces of fear lent a tremor to her voice.

I squeezed past Thackery, relieved at having a legitimate excuse to escape. The Explorer hadn't moved but was vacant. Surprised to see the ubiquitous yellow tape stretched across the entrance, I ducked under it and was stopped outside by a youngster in uniform.

“Sorry, ma'am, but no one's supposed to leave.”

“I'm not going anywhere. I'm looking for the couple who came in the Explorer. Really tall, bald dude with a woman a third his size.”

“Oh.” He jerked his head toward the street where a cruiser blocked the driveway into the garage. Tank stood, his back against the passenger door, Tina in his arms, her face buried against his chest.

I counted to ten, then approached them slowly. “Tina, Clarissa's in there. She'll need you.”

She spun around. Her face, illuminated by a nearby streetlight, glistened with tears. “Auntie Clar? Here? Oh, Lord!” She sprinted toward the garage and zipped under the tape.

Tank watched her go, then gazed down at me. “You okay, Leigh?”

“To tell the truth, I've been better. And poor Clarissa.”

“Yeah. This is gonna be rough for her. Look, what Tina said in there, she didn't really mean it. Well, she meant it, just not the way it came out. I'll let her explain. Who called Clarissa?” he asked, moving away from the cruiser.

“Nobody. It's a long story, and a big mess.” We stopped just outside the entrance while I repeated the story Clarissa had told us.

“Terrific.” Tank scrubbed at his bald pate. “Now on top of losing her twin, Clar will have to deal with feeling guilty for letting Claudia stand in for her. She really shouldn't have. Claudia is . . . was a lot of things but she damned sure wasn't reliable anymore. Then there's Tina, who's feeling guilty for referring Clar to Duck to begin with and for yelling at you. They're long on guilt, the whole family. This is not gonna be fun. Come on.”

I ducked under the tape again. Tank stepped over it.

While a pair of technicians scoured the surrounding area for clues, others were packing up, the medical examiner, removing his gloves as he huddled with the plainclothes crew and Duck. A pair of men were about to remove Claudia, the body bag ready and waiting. Tina and Clarissa, heads together, sat in the backseat of the cruiser blocking the entrance at the opposite end of the garage.

Duck beckoned for us. “A curious development,” he said, speaking softly. “She may have died of natural causes. I repeat, may have.”

“In the trunk of my car?” I asked, incredulous.

He gestured for me to keep my voice down. “There's not a mark on her. The examiner can't be sure at this stage but wonders if she might have had an asthma attack. She has an inhaler in her pocket. Or she died of fright. Clarissa says she was severely claustrophobic.”

“Jesus.” Tank glanced toward the Chevy and winced. “That would do it for her. It's another reason Tina's so upset, Leigh. She says Claudia fell into an abandoned well when she was a kid on that farm Tina mentioned to your grandmother. They didn't find her for hours. She's been terrified of the dark and small spaces ever since. And along with asthma, she had a dicey heart and a million other medical problems. She just might have freaked out in that trunk and from there—” He broke off, leaving the rest to our imaginations.

“Better tell the M.E.,” Duck suggested. “They'll still open her up, but it may simplify things for them.”

“Yeah. I reckon,” Tank said, clearly not relishing the task. He strode away and pulled the medical examiner to one side.

Other movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Mrs. Luby trying to snag our attention. Duck left to see what she wanted, and after an agitated exchange with his neighbor, wiggled a finger for me.

“Something else wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, Leigh, I'm so sorry.” One of Mrs. Luby's chins quivered with anxiety. “I didn't know, you see. It was just a glance, but I really did think it was you. I didn't mean to get you in trouble with the police.”

I squeezed her hand, which was icy cold. She shivered, her flimsy nightwear offering little protection against the December chill. “It'll all be straightened out eventually. I've got witnesses to my whereabouts, at least for most of the day, so I'm covered. But they—and I, for that matter—will need as detailed a description as you can give us of the woman on the elevator. It would be helpful if you could jot down what you remember while it's still fairly fresh.”

“Yes, of course. I'll do that.” Her head bobbed with each word. “In fact, right now. I'll slip it under your door, Dillon.”

“A good idea.” He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Now, you'd better skedaddle. A man can only stand so much, and those flimsy pajamas of yours are testing my self-control.”

“You dog,” I whispered as the elevator door closed.

He managed a tight smile. “She's a good old soul. I'll miss her.”

That startled me. I'd completely forgotten about the house and our earlier conversation. There was a good deal of hashing over to do yet it would have to wait. There was still the question of how Claudia Hitchcock had wound up dead in the trunk of my car.

 

“Well, that's quite a story,” Thackery said later, pinching the bridge of his nose as if we'd given him one hell of a headache.

We had retired to Duck's apartment, where coffee was now percolating, the aroma beginning to waft from the kitchen into the living room. There were only seven of us, all in various stages of collapse, but the atmosphere was so heavy that it felt as if there were three times as many in the room. Tina sat on the couch with Clarissa glued to her side, their fingers locked together in Tina's lap. Clarissa seemed to have shrunk, as if all vital fluids had been siphoned out of her. She emanated pain; it radiated from her in waves like an outgoing tide. There was room for another rear end on the couch, but with everyone's tacit agreement, we left it to them. Tank perched on Duck's rolling desk chair, leaving the two easy chairs for Thackery and Evans. I'd maneuvered my desk chair in from the guest room, and Duck straddled one from the kitchen.

“And you have no idea who this woman might be,” Evans said, for the first time addressing me as if he'd deleted me from his list of suspects.

“None.” I was so tired of talking about it, of wondering and worrying about what this hellion might do next.

“What about someone you arrested or testified against? You were in uniform long enough to have made more than a few women unhappy.”

The prospect was enough to boggle the mind. “I guess it's a possibility. But most of the females I brought in were streetwalkers. They weren't bothered at all. For them, being arrested was an occupational hazard. There were a few shoplifters, a few assault and batteries.”

“Catfights?” Evans asked dryly.

“Essentially.” I decided to ignore the chauvinistic dig. I wasn't sure he even realized it was one. “A few were domestic, oddly enough, wives beating up on their husbands. As for testifying, I can count those cases on one hand. Two of them walked—lack of evidence. A third got thirty days, and the fourth is behind bars for the duration.”

“Hmm. Except for the lifer, doesn't seem to be much to get het up over.”

The coffee smelled as if it was ready, so I retreated to the kitchen to hide my dismay at having the most fulfilling years of my life reduced to a series of petty incidents. At least that's how it had sounded.

It had not included, however, the number of people I had helped, I reminded myself, those who'd simply needed the sight of a uniform to prove that someone cared, or a warm body to talk to. It had not included the ones an inch from trouble who I'd convinced to try another way. It was those faces I remembered most, those moments I prized the most. To me the arrests were an occasional necessity because the truth was I hadn't had to take someone in all that often. What I'd valued most was being of help, and no one could ever take that away from me.